


2am Cocoa

by Racethewind_10



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Gen, Romance, Swan-Mills Family, a touch of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-24
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-03-08 20:19:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3222116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Racethewind_10/pseuds/Racethewind_10
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Emma's hand rests, palm up on the counter, Regina takes it without hesitation. The air smells like chocolate and the house is warm and still, everything she has ever allowed herself to dream about in her softest moments right here in this kitchen. </p><p>It's 2am and the Swan-Mills Family is awake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	2am Cocoa

 

When Regina was a little girl she sometimes woke crying from nightmares, the soft darkness of an ordinary bedroom a deep and sinister cave full of fearsome monsters to a tiny child plagued by bad dreams.  Still too young, too full of hope to understand, she went to find her mother, to beg her to make the monsters go away.

Regina learned very quickly that it was better to huddle under her covers, eyes shut tightly against the faceless terror lurking in the shadows of her room than to risk the very real danger sleeping down the hall in a bed with velvet covers.

Sometimes, though, her father was still awake, and on those nights Regina would tiptoe into his study where he sat – reading, he was always reading – in a battered leather armchair facing the fire, his booted feet propped on a stool and his jacket unbuttoned. Those were some of the few truly comforting memories of her childhood, the smell of wood smoke and parchment, the sharp warmth of the fire and the soft sound of her father’s voice. He would make her chamomile tea with a small spoonful of honey and then tuck her back into bed, or if she was very lucky, he would read to her from his books, spinning her stories of faraway lands, beautiful princesses and brave knights until she fell asleep on his lap, waking only when he pulled the covers up to her chin and whispered a blessing in his native tongue.

Decades later, when her 4 year old son crawled into her bed, tear tracks shining on his chubby cheeks, there was no question of which memories she clung to and so, 2am cocoa was born.

 

* * *

 

 

2am cocoa doesn't happen nearly as often these days, something Regina is both silently thankful for, even if a part of her aches at the loss, because it’s just one more sign her little prince is growing up.

It used to before there was a book and a blonde in a rusted yellow Bug, before... everything. When Henry was still small enough she could lift him into her arms; small enough he would come to her room with his stuffed bear clutched in one tiny fist. The bear used to sit on the counter while she made their cocoa and poured it, silently waiting while they drank it and then Henry would carry the bear and she would carry him back upstairs and tuck both the bear and her son in to bed, kissing both of them on the forehead and running her fingers through Henry's silky hair until his eyes closed and his breathing evened out. Only then would she get up and turn out the light.

Then…then there were months he didn't want anything to do with her; when she'd wake to the sounds of his footsteps passing her doorway in the hall and her heart would trip in her chest, when she would hold her breath hoping, hoping, but the shuffling steps would keep going and that sinking, that weight, that emptiness would grow beneath her ribs to swallow her breath, her bones getting heavier and heavier as she listened to the familiar sound of the refrigerator opening and shutting, the clink of a glass on the countertop. He never made his own cocoa, just poured some milk. She knew by the dirty glass in the sink the next morning.

Somehow that hurt both more and less.

After Neverland...after Neverland neither one of them slept well and nights spent leaning over the counter, side by side or across from each other, the chocolaty steam tickling their noses became common again. They both had new shadows in their eyes but he didn’t flinch from her touch and that was enough. She told herself it was enough and then just when she was starting to believe that she might...that _they_ might finally get to keep this tiny, hard-fought bit of complicated peace...it was ripped from her again.

She isn't the only one left with scars from that year apart. Its why even now, almost 3 years after Emma went into the past and came back with a strange woman, an apology, and an ice queen, 2am cocoa happens a great deal more than it probably should. Often enough that when Regina wakes in the middle of the night to find the bed empty and the covers lovingly tucked around her shoulders her she knows what she’ll find long before she tugs her robe around her and makes her way downstairs.

Sure enough, the warm light of the kitchen makes her squint for a moment but a soft smile is already tugging at her lips as she walks in. Henry is seated at the counter, hair messy and eyes heavy-lidded with sleep. There's a calmness to his face though, a stillness about him so rarely present during the day.

He doesn't seem surprised to see her, just holds out one arm (and she won't think about how tall he's getting or the lean muscle crew is putting on his frame or how long it’s been since she could hold him in her arms and carry him to bed, she _won't_ ) and lets her fit herself to his side, gives a tired smile when she kisses his hair.

She doesn't say anything. It was silent before she came down which means it’s one of their Not Talking nights and she’s content to just stand here and watch the other occupant of the kitchen as they finish stirring the cocoa on the stove, efficiently lining up three mugs on the counter before deftly pouring.

The third mug was already out waiting before she came down.  

It’s such a small thing, so easily overlooked, but the three people in the kitchen have learned just how much small gestures can mean. More than fragile, faulty words, its these small things that make Regina's chest feel too small for her heart, make her eyes sting - just for a moment - with tears of happiness until she breathes in, in, in, bumps her head softly against Henry’s and moves away to wrap her fingers around ceramic that’s almost too hot to touch.

When Emma's hand rests palm up on the counter Regina takes it without hesitation. The air smells like chocolate and the house is warm and still, everything she has ever allowed herself to dream about in her softest moments right here in this kitchen. It’s everything Emma has wanted too; everything the other woman had given up hope of finding. Everything Emma is still terrified she will lose. And if Regina didn’t already suspect, the way Emma's fingers entwine with hers and the strength of the grip confirms whose fear  keeps them up tonight.

But it’s a Not Talking Night, so Regina just tightens her hold and sips her cocoa because what can she say? There are no words with the strength to ensure nothing will change, no spell powerful enough to keep away fate or destiny or just whatever chaos idiot, trouble-causing relations they haven't yet met might bring to town. Theirs is a happiness bought and paid for with so, so much pain and loss; with so many 'almosts;' with blood and tears and shadows that fly.

Regina knows all too well what it is to wake in the night and not believe it’s real. So she clings to Emma's hand and watches her son rub at his eyes and smile at his mothers, savors the almost too-sweet liquid that slips over her tongue like silk and reminds herself that they are home and safe and the town beyond their doors is sleepy and blessedly boring once more. And when they have finished and their cups are in the sink and they've said goodnight to Henry (he really is too old for tucking in, but he allows longer than usual hugs on these nights before he closes his door) she will take Emma to their bed and hold the other woman in her arms as tightly as she can, whispering over and over the promise she made to Emma to keep her as long as she is able, to never let her go.

Because Regina doesn't know what tomorrow will bring anymore, but its 2am and she has cocoa and her family and it may not be an ending but she's  _happy_ and they're  _living_ and that's enough. That's enough. 

 

 FIN

 


End file.
